Tag Archives: memories

My maternal grandmother was known for her “quips” and “quotes”. Just now I could hear, in my mind, her stating that a rolling stone collects no moss. She was notorious for disposing of many things, including mementos; a fact I was reminded of while just now thumbing through a file containing long forgotten mementos of my own.

My task at hand is to load files into plastic tubs for later sorting; I’m emptying a large four drawer file cabinet we no longer wish to have taking up valuable space in our home. My spouse and I are both in agreement we have kept too many unnecessary papers. However, the first file I came upon is going to have to be the exception of the rule.

Before loading this file into a box I began thumbing through its contents, curious what the file contained. I was surprised to come upon a letter I’d begun writing well over 30 years ago—a letter that was never completed. In reading I was reminded of long forgotten details from the month prior to my (fateful) first marriage.

Upon further inspection I came across a loving, supportive letter, dated 1995, written to me by my brother Greg. I was touched again, in reading his long forgotten words and found I wonder if he still feels the love for me he long ago expressed.

I smiled and my heart was warmed by a sweet home made card from my, then, elementary school aged daughter. In it she promised to love me forever– even after she’d left home. I’m blessed in that I can say, despite some rough spots, those prophetic words have proven true.

But it’s an item that moved me to tears that prompted me to sit and write. I just held in my hands, and read once again, a long ago forgotten hand written letter from my paternal grandmother; a note I found tucked snugly between the folds of a congratulatory card she’d sent in honor of my high-school graduation.

While I’m sure I appreciated her note upon receiving it, I could not have known then how I’d be moved now to read her words and thus feel her love these many years after her death; when she left behind this world to journey onto her next destination. I couldn’t have known then how much I would miss her presence; how I’d miss the opportunity to bide time with her in the simplest of life’s tasks.

It wasn’t so long ago, lying in the dark about to go to sleep, I had a visual memory of sitting at my grandparent’s kitchen table for breakfast. I can still smell the coffee brewing, hear eggs sizzling in bacon fat, and see the pink tint on the off-white porcelain dishes from which we ate. At the time of these occasions I was clueless as to how deeply meaningful this simple act of eating together was. Now that the option is no longer mine, the loss therein brings me to tears.

In this note from my beloved grandmother, she expresses her wish I was there to help her with some needful cleaning. While many of my memories involve sitting: eating; watching TV together (think old fashioned console, sans remote control watching He-Haw, the local news, and the like); or simply to chat, conversing about life, her words reminded me I also spent time assisting my grandparents with chores. I’d forgotten to think about the times of collecting eggs from big brown chickens, pulling beans off vines, picking up hazel nuts, chatting with grandma while helping her pick blueberries, and talking while we hand washed dishes. Were I to sit and think on it, this list would grow.

At the time, I had no idea these simple life tasks, in doing them together, were creating what would one day become cherished memories of time shared with people I would one day miss so much it would hurt.

For this I am thankful, to the depths of my soul that: “For God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).

Because I believe in Him, and I know my grandparents believed in Him, I can trust the time will come when I will again be able to spend quality time with these people who have meant so much to me in this life.

The beauty is that then we will be together with no pain, no sorrow and no fear of death. Oh, how to do long for that, and I truly thank God for it.

In the meantime, while I do think I’ve too many unnecessary papers in this old file cabinet, I also believe there are some items that are completely necessary for saving. I’m truly thankful I’ve hung onto them but I don’t think they belong in this file cabinet anymore. I’ve determined they deserve to be elevated to a higher status. I think it’s time I make time to create a beautiful memory book.

I think perhaps, some “moss” on the stone of my life is actually a good thing. It’s good for my heart—and soul.

Do you have, in your past, a pivotal moment, one that every so once-in-awhile you find your thoughts drifting back to question what might have been– if you’d taken that alternate road.

I woke up too early this morning, with pain in my back and a numb right arm. But it wasn’t the pain that awoke me; it was too loud of volume coming from my child’s educational TV program.

This child of mine, my special needs child, just threw a temper tantrum of paramount proportions because I stopped her from eating a second piece of chocolate cake, for her breakfast. I’d just cleared a spot on the stove to scramble up an egg for her breakfast burrito when she found the chocolate cake in a Tupperware container from the contents of my fridge; a fridge which had earlier been emptied in my attempt to find a container of food to serve as lunch for my husband; a fridge which still awaits my cleaning it prior to it’s being reloaded.

Thankfully I smelled the hot grease in time to remember to turn the heat off from under the pan that otherwise may have caught fire as I attempted to clean up the bits of cake and frosting that now littered my floor from having been thrown in above mentioned temper tantrum of soon to be ten year old child with Down Syndrome and Autism.

Afore mentioned child is presently in her bedroom where I promptly marched her after she threw the cake followed with throwing the $100 dollar multi-purpose remote, an action that was then followed with multiple slamming (open to shut) a wood encased glass door of the stereo.

While cleaning up the cake mess to the sounds of multiple slamming of the child’s bedroom door I couldn’t help but wonder how much of this is due not so much to “special needs” as to simply being spoiled brat behavior.

From there I found, for reasons unknown, my thoughts drifting back to my 18th birthday. On that special day, along with my good friend Brenda Choate and her boyfriend, I and a date had gone to Portland to dance the night away at a local disco tech.

What I remember most of that night is the portion of evening I spent dancing with a guy whom I’d just met, there, that night. I think my date had walked away momentarily when this guy asked me to dance. As my date was not my boyfriend, but instead was a nice kid I’d gone on a couple dates with who was two years my junior and the son my moms friend, it would seem I felt it okay to accept a dance with this attractive stranger.

Rather than dancing to just one song I ended up on the floor with him through a couple fast songs followed up with a slow dance that culminated with a kiss. It was a magical moment in time; one I have held close to my heart in the years to follow.

In that magical moment I felt like Cinderella who had, at long last, found herself in the arms of a prince—not to mention there was chemistry there. And just like Cinderella, I too ran away—but my reasons were different. I didn’t fear my gown turning into rags; instead my head was bursting full of dreams of even greener pastures with an even grander prince to be found.

Before parting this guy asked if he could have my number; I honestly think he would have called. But I informed him I was about to graduate from High School upon which I’d promptly be moving to Salt Lake City.

And that was that. I never saw him again; I don’t even remember his name. I moved to Utah with all my hopes and dreams of finding happiness and true love; all the other crap my head had been filled with believing awaited me, especially including a happy ever after.

Instead I found hardship and heartbreak and the storms of life.

Sometimes, in moments such as this, it would seem I allow my mind to drift back so such pivotal moments and wonder “what if”…

But then my sensible side kicks in to remind me that no matter what road I’d taken there still would be the trials of life. And despite the incredible romance of that moment, even that guy was not perfect– since no one is.

But I’ll never know how it might have been… because I never gave it a chance. Instead what I do know is what came about because of the road I did take.

And I can assure you, based on the painful, long years leading up to the ending of my first marriage, given the chance to go back again to that night, to that magical moment, I’d choose the other road.